Ghost Story Love Story
by Winking Tiger
Summary: When the years have passed by and the cold encompasses you, what are you truly left with—beyond yourself? *COMPLETE* M/L Please R
1. Ghost Story

**Ghost Story**  
**Title:** Ghost Story

**Author**: Winking Tiger

**Date**: June 13, 2002; edited December 1, 2002

**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  This is a creative project, no money is being made.  ****

**Summary**: When the years have passed by and the cold encompasses you, what are you truly left with—beyond yourself?   

**Author's Notes**: This was written some time ago and I've only now gone and tried to save this from the darkness and despair of the Document Graveyard, also known as my computer.  While this may not be the best piece of literature, it's still mine.  And while it's always up to you, the reader, to decide about any and all pieces, keep in mind no matter how much this may, or may not, be a disgrace to English literature, I've placed my words, my effort, and all that other good stuff into this.  

All words are my own, all mistakes are mine alone.

"Chapter 2" of this piece will be simultaneously posted with this, "Chapter 1", in that in reality it will be the lyrics used with this part.  Therefore, while "Chapter 2" will just be lyrics, there is more story to come in "Chapter 3". 

Just try to enjoy this and give feedback when you're done.  You readers are the only reason this kind of stuff may see the light of day, so be good and _leave feedback once you're done.  _

She sat watching the setting sun.  As the dark and light suddenly became one, where the sun ended and the horizon began too close to tell over the other, her figure remained constant.  Breathe in, exhale out, breathe in, exhale out.  It was still early when the sun had made its retreat for the night; the winter had approached and grabbed hold with its icy grasps. 

Life had left few marks upon her.  The usual from age, the times of the world, but very few would be able to see anything beyond.  Externally she had been left relatively untouched by outside forces.  Her face was lacking typical wrinkles, worry lines, lines of poor habits, of smoking, of drinking, of too much sun.  She had no permanent lines—of any kind, no smile lines.  The world had not been kind to her; one may know if they know who the subject is.  But each thing she was thrown by life only brought an even greater response from her.  Anything bearable enough to survive through only added, her hide thicker, or walls even more impenetrable. "Girls Kick Ass—says so on the t-shirt," she huffed to the blowing wind, while moving inside.

The winter that was slowly approaching, sweeping through the land on its chariots of gusting winds, could now be felt safely on its journey.  It was unavoidable to get caught by the cold.  He had far reaches, firm grasps.  But inside, as the figure was now, there was a protection.  The fire, burning bright in the fireplace, splayed shadows against the room.  

While seemingly away from the world, and its people—at least geographically—it became apparent to any that watched this figure was still plagued by the restraints that still held influence, upon a person. Truly not away from anything, but one's self, the torments went on.  Being left to one's own mind could be the cruelest form of torture, left to your own devices; there is only one that may and will limit the tortures.  And left alone, too many times, the same things would occur each time.  A pattern—a continuation of before, all of before.  The same questions, the same answers.  Such little oil for such a great want for light—little light would do no good when such great wanted is found in one so badly. 

The fire's light shined upon the walls.  The room suddenly became smaller, leaving no other option but retreating within one's self.  Instead of letting old habits die, they returned—fierce.  Opting to be of a stronger will, she leaned closer to the fire.  She followed the path of the high road, staring the fire head on.  Staring into the flames, watching the wood burn away—to ashes—to nothingness, she looked for answers there.

All those years ago, that bitter winter, what had really happened?  We are left without answers, but they lie in one person here.  They may only be found from the figure, the masked and shadowed frail figure, waging battles in the silence.  As weak and frail as she may seem to those that can see her now, the answers may only be found, now, from her.  "That time … that thing … those chain of events—that _man_.  What did I miss?—when it all went down," she questioned to the flames.  Receiving no answer from her companions, she instead, spoke of the universal answer—the common answer and response, of this question, "I don't remember," she quietly whispered. As usual.

"Too old," she spoke barley beyond her own lips, wrapping the jacket closer to her body.  No match against the winter, or her traitorous body—its genes.  She left, left that city, that predator, that time—that same _man_.  "So far away … still the same," she mused, looking out the frosted panes.  Time and space had left things apart, a greater rift found between each day than the prior.  Growing, growing every mile, every year, every tear, every thought.  "Why should it matter?" she questioned the flames once again—only receiving the same reply.  But this time, this time, she gave the correct answer, the truth she knew—that could come only from her, "I must have loved him."

What makes things go, what makes them stop?  "Why did I leave—why didn't he follow?"  Of course, we know, she only added to her walls.  4-inch, instead of 2-inch.  "What makes it all matter? Why does it still matter?"  Time had yet to leave a great enough wake to throw him off her mind, allow her a dark enough space to hide—the light always penetrated through.  

"Why do I always come back?"  Why not continue to flee?  Afraid, is now the apparent reason; afraid of all that can be held dear.  "Afraid of him, yes I finally admit … I'll admit it.  I was afraid of him.  His love.  My love.  Our love.  Afraid … of our love?"  Seemingly aimlessly she wondered around the place—her mind—while staring out at the overwhelming darkness outside.  Waiting, just waiting, for night to reach its peak, and day's light to come once again.  To be left again questioning.

The moon had made its regal appearance for the night's court.  It made its retreat back home for more hours of rest, only to come out again, soon enough.  But the new day, still found her there.

Once more, old wounds resurfaced, bringing up blood and tears that been refused to be shed.  Too important, too much to give up, to let it leave her veins and her body.  Shedding, she couldn't shed a thing, she'd refused to for so long … it meant defeat, meant giving in—to her hear, her mind, the sense that had taken her hostage.  "No," she conceded.  "We did dance around.  Wore out my best shoes too," she tried to joke. "We danced.  Too much?" she questioned.  Yet the question of 'Too little?' remained unasked.  "But I didn't leave him in the dark," she continued.  "He knew, more than I did most of the time—he always … he always knew, everything.  More than I thought I ever would.  Dammit, I came back!" she cried out to the empty space.  Alone, once again, without even her mute flames as companions.  

"Everything … everything was you," she sobbed.  "I … I cared!  You made, you **made me care!  I … I refused, I refused to get into it.  But …you plead, and I gave in!  Crappy world, and I revolved around you!" she shouted.  "I realized, too late, what you were, what you were worth—to me.   You were worth so much to me … you, you were … you were just Priceless," she finally spoke.  She then quietly added, "And apparently unattainable." With that the tears came on, a faucet turned to its greatest setting.  And she sobbed.  Finally allowing the tears to flow freely, the tears so painful, so much her body shook—she shed tears.  Though free was at a great price.  Free, yes, but surely not free against herself.  Or her heart, her pain—time; freedom came at a great price.  Was the price too high to pay? **

The last thing she'd have accepted was to come up with answers this time.  Each time had turned out the same.  She'd plead ignorance, refusing to let go, refusing the memories and remain tormented in the same state of self-imposed pain and punishment always found in the Jail of Max.  Or rather, she amended, "The Jail of Love."  

She had faced the fear this time—she'd faced what had been left unsaid for so many years.  And now, now she had finally given up the answer so long waited for.  So long left wishing to know the truth, the truth that had all along been inside of her.  

This accomplishment, this truth finally attained was not limited to only one.  With this knowledge, newfound for her, for you, for us, another always knew the truth as well.  "I loved him," she said.  The deep darkness having been pushed aside by flames, with the fire burning bright once more, answers were no longer sought from their heated limbs.  Instead, she spoke to the flames—again, "I love him."

Her voice, her proclamation, was heard by her own ears and the fire's embers.  However, this time his shadow had been leaning against a wooden frame as she spoke.  He'd remained still, listening to her words, staring at her face—at the face he'd longed for, thought of, been haunted by for so long.  His own face giving way to the smile that grew as the flames ignited.  She had an audience, a captive audience—if only by her presence, though it was so much more than that.  Logan had always, would always, hang on every word she spoke, ever action she took—everything she was.  This time, it wasn't just a Ghost Story.  


	2. Ghost Story Lyrics

**Title:** Love Story

**Author**: Winking Tiger

**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  This is a creative project, no money is being made.  No infringement intended.  This is a creative project, no money is being made.  However, credit where it's due includes that words and music are by Sting, from the album "Brand New Day".

**Author's Notes**: Pieces that include an entire song usually bother me.  However, in that this was purely based on a song, and since Writer's Block is such a crippling affliction, I feel the need to include the inspiration of this piece.  

Here, separate from the story, are the lyrics.  Though this piece originally had the lyrics within the story, I hope that my decision that the lyrics interfered with the story too much to maintain an attempt at equal and proper distribution is shared by you, the readers, as well.  

**Ghost Story**

I watch the Western sky  
The sun is sinking  
The geese are flying South  
It sets me thinking

  
I did not miss you much  
I did not suffer  
What did not kill me  
Just made me tougher

I feel the winter come  
His icy sinews,  
Now in the firelight  
The case continues

  
Another night in court  
The same old trial  
The same old questions asked  
The same denial  
  


The shadows close me round  
Like jury members  
I look for answers in  
The fire's embers 

  
Why was I missing then  
That whole December?  
I give my usual line,  
I don't remember  
  


Another winter comes  
His icy fingers creep  
Into these bones of mine  
These memories never sleep  
And all these differences  
A cloak I borrow  
We kept our distances  
Why should it follow   
I must have loved you?

  
What is the force that binds the stars?  
I wore this mask to hide my scars  
What is the power that pulls the tide?  
Never could find a place to hide

What moves the Earth around the sun?  
What could I do but run and run and run?  
Afraid to love, afraid to fail  
A mast without a sail  
The moon's a fingernail   
And slowly sinking  
Another day begins   
And now I'm thinking

That this indifference   
Was my invention  
When everything I did   
Sought your attention  
  


You were my compass star  
You were my measure  
You were a pirate's map  
Of buried treasure  
  


If this was all correct  
The last thing I'd expect  
The prosecution rests  
It's time that I confess  
I must have loved you  
I must have loved you


	3. Love Story

**Love Story**

**Title:** Love Story

**Author**: Winking Tiger

**Date**: June 14, 2002; edited December 1, 2002

**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  This is a creative project, no money is being made.  

**Summary**: When the years have passed by and the cold encompasses you, what are you truly left with—beyond yourself?   

**Author's Notes**: "Chapter 4" of this piece will be simultaneously posted with this, "Chapter 3"—in that in reality it will only be the lyrics used with this part.  With that posting, the end of this piece will have occurred.  Thank you, everyone and I hope you've enjoyed! 

I must acknowledge that this piece would not exist without the help and support from my faithful friend **Jade.  Her constant support and insistence to continue this piece with another portion to showcase Logan and his contribution to the story is the only thing that contributed to the true making of this.  Also, I feel the need to thank, profusely, the ****Grammar Queen, as usual, you're amazing and all your input and effort has been just priceless!  **

All the words are my own, all mistakes are mine alone.

Be good and leave_ **feedback once you're done.  **_

The light shone into the room.  The setting sun's rays just barely reached the lone inhabitant.  His sleeping figure gradually began to move; the subtle signs of life coming back into the body.  Alive from the death of slumber he had been in, the moments lurched on.  He moved over in the large bed, turning his head to the adjacent pillow.  His eyes took in the familiar sight.  The smile on his lips was purely reflexive—he wouldn't be able to stop it if he wanted to.  Her face greeted his warm smile with one of her own and his heart grew with every second, millisecond, nanosecond, every moment.  

No matter how much he may have desired that his eyes would stop lying to him once again, this day was no different than another other.  There was no loving smile, no beautiful face, or body.  She was a mirage, a figment of his imagination.  He was alone, in the bed, in the room, in life.  While his heart was possessed by another, his life was just as lonely as the pillow beside him—always unoccupied and never used.  

His greeting was only received by the pillow into which he beamed at.   "God, I miss you Max," he uttered in a desperate whisper.  Speaking freely, an oral compilation of inner thoughts, he continued.  "After all this time, I can still feel you, see you, imagine you here—with me.  Is it too out of line if I said that I still miss you, even now?  Would it matter to you, where ever you are?"  Instead of quickly waking, returning to the world of the living, one must be conscious and awake to be a participant of the living world, he slowly sank back to the death—the darkness—that was always close.  Just out of reach, but always close enough to take hold when there's no other road to take.  "It's been too long, it's been too hard," he whispered while adjusting the sheet up and over his head.

Sleep avoided him, no matter the effort.  He continued to himself, muffled by the sheets.  "What the hell am I supposed to do with myself, today?"  The decision was ever present, its unresolved status looming all around him.  Visibly shaken, weak, and broken, he was on the edge—feet barley on the ground, about to plummet down.  He spoke to the face that had graced his waking eyes, "And I still miss you. I still love you."  So close, teetering so close, just about to—"Minutes, hours, a few days, a few months, the years that really have gone by.  Oh god, I never stopped loving you Max, never," was the last he was able to get out before falling violently, into the dark recesses that waited.  Seconds, days, hours—time—passed by.  It still hurt, "it'll always hurt," he mumbled on his way out—once the ability to move, once again, was a newfound, and bittersweet, freedom.  And eventually, he began to overcome the pain.  

Not over, and past, the edge completely, he made the decision.  Painful as it was, he took the option to go to the one place that never stopped haunting him.  "One of many," he'd mumbled while pulling up the drive.  Up on the driveway, he parked the car and made his way inside.  

Turning the key in the lock, steeling himself to entering, he had neglected to brace himself against the cold that surrounded him.  Instead of the silence, the dead emptiness, that he had awaited to greet him, he felt the warmth that surrounded and exuded from the cabin.  The ability to move, once again, was faltering, but he refused to let fear stop him.  He made his way, quietly walking through, observing the differences between his mind's image and what his current surroundings were.

At first he feared that this was just another lie courtesy of the same cruelty he'd faced earlier that day.  Then, after shaking his head and reassuring that this was anything but a dream, he began truly inspecting reality.  His mind had worked him up to expect a lost stranger, seeking warmth and shelter.  A roof and fire to combat the winter would be a dream come true to most.  But … no, he wouldn't have anything easy.  Surely not as easy as what he'd expect, of anything.  

Though in his wildest dreams, never had he imagined the possibility of this, was this another false reality.  Her, _she—_**Max**—was actually there.  Instead of some unreachable dream image there was now something reachable, tangible, just outside of his grasps.  He was unable to hide the shock, so much time and distance, so much.  And now she was right in front of him—the expression on his face changed from shock to pure joy, excitement—trepidation.  There was just much too much running through his mind in such a short period of time—just a few brief seconds.  Able to lean himself against the nearby corner, he tried to steady himself once more.  

Instead, his world was changed once again, with hearing **_her _**say, "I loved him … I love him."  His ears were bursting with the shattering and explosion of his mind—his world, his walls.  Everything had changed.****

**_She_** must have expected the cabin to be occupied by only one as well.  Those were words not to be heard but by her own ears.  Love and joy—how full of joy and love he was to have heard them, those amazing words.  Her voice—her proclamation—wasn't only heard by her own ears.  Instead, he listened to her while leaning against his new source of strength, the wooden frame.  He listened to her words, stared at her face—at the face he'd longed for, thought of, been haunted by for so long.  And now, his face was giving way to the smile that grew as the flames ignited.  She had an audience, a captive audience—if by nothing else than by just her presence.  This time, it wasn't just a Ghost Story.  Instead, it was a Love Story.  

And he was determined for this to be a Love Story that would continue, with its very own Happily Ever After.  

"Max," he whispered, unsure if even she would hear him.  "I love you too.  I never stopped—caring for you, loving you—I never stopped."  

To keep what is sacred, what is truth—what is beyond truth, certain things must be omitted.  Because sharing some things, does not make them better.  Instead, it can ruin things of such a great importance and that are held to be so special in the hearts of those from the moment itself.  Instead of divulging such, one may infer what occurred.  There are some things that are beyond words, though they are spoken, and beyond the body. Instead they are of a greater thing than all else.  You may decide yourself, on this, and instead take the following.  Such an occurrence of love transpired between the two.  

And when all was said and done, that night, it was most definite that a Love Story was taking place.  And the words "I miss you" barely covered a thing.  

But somehow, three other words did cover mostly everything.  Those three words surrounded and overcame everything, everyone, and neither of the two complained.  **"I Love You"**


	4. Love Story Lyrics

**Title:** Love Story

**Author**: Winking Tiger

**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  This is a creative project, no money is being made.  No infringement intended.  This is a creative project, no money is being made.  However, credit where it's due includes that words and music are by Incubus - Boyd/E/K/K/P, from the album "Make Yourself". 

**Author's Notes**: Here, separate from the story, are the lyrics.  Though this piece originally had the lyrics within the story, I hope that my decision that the lyrics interfered with the story too much to maintain an attempt at equal and proper distribution is shared by you, the readers, as well.  

**I Miss You**

To see you when I wake up  
is a gift I didn't think could be real.  
To know that you feel the same as I do  
is a three-fold, utopian dream.

You do something to me that I can't explain.  
So would I be out of line if I said,  
I miss you.(?)

I see your picture, I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine.  
You have only been gone ten days, but already I'm wasting away.

I know I'll see you again  
whether far or soon.  
But I need you to know that I care  
and I miss you.****


End file.
